The Cheshire Cat's beginning
by KnightlyLady
Summary: Collection of important events leading up to the Cheshire Cat entering Wonderland/meeting Alice the events are somewhat disjointed, but chronological-ish . Early chapters will not involve Wonderland. Placed in modern times. Occasional language.
1. Sarah

**Disclaimer: **I do own these characters. For the most part. I think. Haha. I don't own their namesakes, but…. Feel free to tell me if it doesn't belong on this site. 'Cause I'm not really sure.

Anyway, this is where Chris's story begins. Enjoy :D

****

"Mommy, do you still feel icky?"

I watched the concern and fear in his eyes for a moment, and decided I couldn't lie to him.

"Yes, sweetie, but I'm okay," I told him, forcing the smile on my face.

He brightened a little, then asked, "Mommy, do you want some medicine?"

I shook my head gently, still smiling. "Medicine won't do anything for me today."

His little face scrunched a bit in confusion. "But, medicine always makes me feel better."

"You're very right. Would you bring me a cough drop?"

As soon as that grin burst across his face, I knew that all he had wanted was to be able to help. I didn't think I could stomach any fluids today, but I figured a cough drop was safe enough.

It was no time at all before he was racing back into the room, his green eyes shining, and a disgustingly large bag of cough drops in tow. He jumped onto the bed and handed me a cough drop, a triumphant expression on his face.

"Here you go, Mommy."

"Thank you," I said, taking the little candy from his outstretched hand. I thanked God that Chris had picked the ones that tasted like strawberries—menthol would've made me throw up for sure.

Chris snuggled against my chest, laying the bag on my stomach.

"Mommy, do you think Daddy will be home tonight?"

"No, dear. I told you he was coming home tomorrow. Remember?"

I stroked the child's hair, wishing my husband was here now. I knew that his options had been horrid—go on the business trip, or lose his job—and that leaving had been his only choice. We needed the money right now—I couldn't have, for all of our sakes, made him stay. However, I found myself deathly afraid of being alone. It was at that time, I'm sure, that I knew I wouldn't be here much longer.

"Mommy, do you have to go to the hospital today?"

"No, sweetie. Anita will take me tomorrow."

"Good," he said. "I don't get to talk to you when you're at the hospital. I get sad, because I miss you. I don't like being sad," he said in that serious-but-adorable manner all four-year-olds seemed to adopt when sharing details of the utmost importance.

"I know. It makes me sad too, my darling." There was a small pause before he spoke again.

"Mommy, can I have a cough drop, too?"

I laughed at this. "Of course you may have a cough drop. But only if you promise to stay with me all day long."

I felt his giggle, could see that perfect, beautiful grin without looking at his face. "Always, Mama. Where else would I go?"

I felt the tears well in my eyes, and squeezed him to me. He stopped in the middle of his pursuit of a cough drop to hug me back.

"Thank you," I whispered.

"I love you," was his answer.

Chris stayed with me, as promised, all day, and how I wanted to keep him with me through the night, as well.

But I knew that this would be the last time I went to sleep.

With as normal of a goodbye as I could muster, with tears clogging my throat and filling my eyes, I kissed his nose, smelled his hair, held him to my chest.

"Good night, my baby," I said as he hopped off of my bed.

"G'night, Mommy," he answered.

"I love you," I told him. "Be a good boy. I'm so proud of you."

"Love you, too," he called back into the room, and then he was gone.

I pulled out the notebook I always kept in the drawer of my bedside table, as well as my favorite fountain pen. This was not an occasion for pencil—pencil fades.

I wrote down everything I could think to write, filling pages with my wishes, hopes, and dreams for the future, keeping myself awake for hours longer than I would have liked to. I told my husband things he already knew, and explained to Chris that none of this was his fault. I wrote of how proud I was of them, how sure I was that they would both go farther in this world than they could imagine, and they would do it together. For the most part, though, I said, "I love you." I expressed it everywhere that I could, in any way that I could, even though I knew that no number of pages could contain the love in my heart. Finally, I had no more to say—or, at least, no more that I could write. My hand had begun to cramp, my eyes to droop, and my heart to ache. If I wrote anymore, I would die broken.

I tore off a small corner of paper, wrote, "For my loves," on the top of it and placed both the notebook and this slip on Tom's bedside table.

I looked around my room for the last time, taking in the smell, the feel, the look, savoring all of the memories, both good and bad, that had sprung from this small space, the one that had been mine for six years.

"Good night, Tom," I whispered at last, and turned off the lamp.

****

So, there ends this one. It'll be a couple of chapters before we get to Wonderland, and this is a collection of stories crucial to Chris's past. All the big events in his life, and such.


	2. The House Burns Down

So, here's the next bit. Um, Chris is blind. I'll post that explanation later. Sorry ^-^;;. Things have to happen first before I can post that specific story. But yeah. Here goes.

****

I was almost done with my apple when I thought I smelled smoke. Ignoring it, thinking it was just my nose playing tricks, I took a last bite and threw away the core. I was on my way out of the kitchen when the smoke detector went off.

I made my way to the stairs carefully, wondering if I should be ducking my head. How did fires work? "Dad," I yelled, my voice echoing up the stairwell. "Dad, can you hear me?" Dad was a pretty light sleeper; he should be awake by much. There weren't many noises he could sleep through. Of course, tonight seemed to be an exception.

"Dad," I yelled again. I kept yelling, just for good measure.

I could feel the smoke entering my lungs, clogging them, weighing them down. But I couldn't leave without him.

About the twentieth time I screamed at him, I finally heard him moving around upstairs. It was about time. His feet were thumping down the stairs at about the rate of my heart (I was pretty thoroughly scared by this point).

"Sorry, Chris. Duck your head; let's get out of here." He pushed my head down below the smoke level and led me through the house. There was a bit of stumbling—it was dark—but it wasn't too long before I was breathing the night air.

It was so clean—I had never really appreciated clean air until that moment. I took deep breaths, feeling the air clean out my system.

"Dad, did you….What are we.…How…?" I choked out, feeling tears dampen the cloth I wore over my un-seeing eyes.

"Hey, kiddo, it's all right," Dad said, pulling me into a hug. "We're okay; that's all that matters."

"Mom isn't," I whispered, thinking of all the things we'd be losing.

"What are you…." He trailed off as his half-asleep mind absorbed what I was talking about. "Her notebook," he breathed. "I'll be right back." And then he was gone.

"Dad?" I called out. No answer. "Dad?"

There's no way he went back in side. "There's no way….Dad!" Running to the door of the house, I yelled the word over and over again. It got me no where, but I kept doing it, anyway.

I was on my knees, still yelling, when someone grabbed me gently by the shoulders.

"Hey, kid, is this your house?" a voice asked behind me. I heard the sirens, heard the men running around and shouting things at one another.

"My dad," I said, turning to face the firefighter. "He…went…." I pointed, unable to bring myself to say it.

"He's inside?"

I nodded weakly, letting the tears flow.

I heard him bark something at someone else, but I didn't know what. I was completely absorbed in my denial, unable to believe that any of this was happening. My house was burning not twenty feet away from me. Dad had just gone back in. I was losing everything.

Except I couldn't be. He'd come back out, with Mom's notebook, and things would be okay.

A blanket was draped over my body, and I realized that I was sitting. In the fire truck? I didn't know. Then they started the questioning—I don't remember what was asked, or what I answered, but I do remember that they said nothing about Dad.

This wasn't happening…was it?

I would find out later that the fire was caused by the knocking over of a lamp. It was the one outside my room, the one that table. Which meant that I had probably knocked it over. When Dad went back in, he eventually passed out from the smoke intake—he probably moved the notebook a while back, and couldn't remember where he put it. They tried to get him out, but….The fire spread to the stairs. And that was when my life ended.

****

Thanks for reading! Please review :D


	3. Emmy Freaks Out

Wow. I haven't updated in forever. I'm sorry I'm lazy ^-^;;;. To those of you who have reviewed and will read this….Arigatou gozaimasu. Thanks a bunch. Enjoy!

****

Foster parents. Wonderful. Like I wanted replacements. Why couldn't the world just fuck off? I sat as far back in the chair as I could, my feet bouncing crazily on the floor in front of me. Why? Why was this happening? _My luck needs serious help,_ was my thought as the door clicked open.

"Chris?" I recognized the voice of the woman who had been "helping" me through all of this. "Are you ready?"

"Yeah," I mumbled. No point in prolonging the inevitable.

"Okay," she said, and I heard her tell my "parents" that they could come in. I stood, ready to get this over with.

"Hi, Chris," a soft voice greeted me. "My name is Janice. I'm so happy to meet you." Her tone held little inflection, but she was far from monotone. She sounded incredibly kind. A picture of a small-ish, auburn haired woman flashed into my mind, and then disappeared again.

"And I'm Richard," a deep voice said from farther away than Janice had been. A normal-sized man with dark hair and very blues eyes popped into my head.

"It's good to finally meet you," was my fake answer, complete with a fake smile. I wasn't happy, but hey, why start things off on the wrong foot? What the hell did that phrase mean, anyway? It made absolutely no sense, when you thought about it. Oh, yeah. "Um, I'm Chris," I said then. I knew that they knew my name, but it was weird to not say it myself.

"I have a good feeling about this. Would you all like to stay here a little longer, or are you ready to head home?"

"Chris?" Janice asked me.

"Um….I'm ready if you are, I guess."

"All right then. Let's go meet your siblings."

There were three of them. Ember, Daniel, and Kurt. 5, 10, and 17. Ember and Danny were also foster kids. Kurt was "my parents" actual child, and it took him about 0.3 seconds flat to decide that he hated me. Which was fine. I wished the other two would decide to feel the same. I didn't really need (or want) the additional shadows. They freaking followed me everywhere! Including the damn bathroom, until I snapped and sent them out.

But I made it through the first day. Maybe I'd be okay, after all.

***

"Chris, Chris, Chris!" Ember was screaming as she ran into my room. Unfortunately, heavy sleeping was not my forte, and the shrieks scared the shit out of me.

I sat straight up. "What, what, what?" I asked/yelled, my heart beating three thousand goddamn miles a minute.

She jumped into my bed, snuggling against my side. "Can Emmy sleep wif Chris?"

Emmy had perfect speech (at least, I thought so; I hadn't spent much time around little kids), minus two little things: she loved speaking in third person (one of the most annoying things ever, I'd decided), and she couldn't say her "th"s to save her life.

"Maybe if Emmy has a good reason," I grumped as soon as I was sure the house wasn't crashing down around my ears. Or burning. But I didn't want to think about that. There was a pause and mild rustling, as if she was readjusting.

"Emmy can't tell you," she finally said, her voice completely serious.

I heard footsteps pounding down the hall as I began to ask her why she couldn't tell me. Then my foster mom was at the door.

"Chris? Emmy? Is everything all right?" Janice asked, her voice panicked.

"Yeah, Emmy just freaked out and came in here. She hasn't told me why yet."

"Oh, Emmy. You really should stop this. Chris needs to sleep, too," Janice half-chided her daughter. "Come on, sweetheart."

"But, Mommy—"

"It's all right, Janice. She can stay. If that's okay with you."

"Of course, as long as you promise to behave and go to sleep, Ember Mae."

"Emmy promises."

Janice sighed, and pronounced herself going back to bed. After hugging and kissing us good night and offering to get us water. We declined.

"So, why can't you tell me?" I asked when Janice was safely gone.

She waited before speaking again, then whispered, her voice conspiratorial, "Emmy would tell, but he said he'd eat Emmy. And if Emmy mentions him, he might find her. Chris's room is a very safe place."

She was something else, that was for sure. "All right, shorty. I don't want you to be eaten anymore than you do. So let's just go to sleep, okay?"

"Okay. Good night, favorite brother."

I chuckled. "Good night, favorite sister."

Turns out, having siblings didn't suck so much after all.

****

So, there's one of Chris's less unhappy memories, haha. I'm sorry if that seemed kind of broken up. I was rereading it (I wrote it forever ago….) and I don't know if I like how disconnected it is. Let me know if it needs to flow better, kk? I luffles input ^-^


	4. An Encounter by the Tree

Ha! Two in one day! I think I'll leave it here for now, but I will update again soon. I have more. I'm just forgetful and lazy. Hence the lack of disclaimers. Sigh.

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Wonderland, or its characters, or anything remotely related to Lewis Carroll's wonderful story.

****

My courtyard.

I liked to think of it that way – mine. As far as I could tell, no one else ever came here. I was the only one. And that definitely instilled a sense of ownership.

I had ditched my hand-holding session (more commonly known as "class") again today. My grades, of course, sucked ass – it had been a while since I had last done any homework. God, I was sick of high school. It was such a joke. The kids were idiots, the adults were idiots. More annoyingly, I happened to be an idiot, as well.

With a sigh, I pulled out my old, crappy guitar. Despite it's obvious senior citizenship status, I found myself carrying the damn thing everywhere lately. Like a two-year-old and his lame ass teddy bear. Ridiculous.

My fingers began strumming chord progressions—nothing spectacular. I had played these same notes so many times lately that I didn't have to think about them anymore. In fact, if my brain happened to try to get in the way of my fingers, it was pretty much a train wreck. Another testament to my stupidity, I guess.

Eventually, I gave up on the progressions and headed into the riffs that I could never play too many times. I was more than allowed to think about this portion of my daily mini-concert, so I gladly let myself fall into the music. I sang the words where I could, but mostly, I let my fingers do the talking, screwing up my fair share of notes along the way. For the millionth-and-a-half time, I wished could live in this state of mind.

The familiar riffs melted into the random crap I had been working on lately—nothing I would ever publish, but fun to play all the same. It was during one of these meaningless interludes that I first heard her voice.

"That was cool. Play it again." The volume with which she spoke indicated that she was decently close. Her tone bordered on interested and sarcastic—I didn't really understand the combo of emotions, but I heard it all the same.

Regardless, I ignored her and kept playing. I wasn't ready to come back yet, and she'd go away soon enough. She wasn't worth the time.

"Your name is Chris, right?" she asked after a couple of minutes.

"Yes."

"Are you ditching?"

"Yes."

"Then why are you still at school?"

I stopped playing, wishing that I could glare.

"Can't really drive, now, can I?"

"So, you're really blind, then?"

I couldn't believe this. "Would you randomly decide to wear a blindfold?"

"No."

"Well, there you have it."

"Why would you unrandomly decide to wear a blindfold?"

"What in the hell are you here for?" I returned. By no means was I in the mood for this. I'd had enough of memory lane recently, and I didn't even know this chick.

"I was late to class and heard you—"

"Look, I really don't care," I interrupted. "I left class to be alone, not answer ridiculous questions."

"I…um….Fine." I heard readjusting and the sound of angry, stamping footsteps. I considered calling her back and apologizing, but decided against the idea. I was sick of people and their crap—I didn't want anything to do with it anymore.

Having been jolted out of my peaceful frame of mind, I couldn't find it in me to start playing again. For the umpteen millionth time, I wished that I could see the sky. I settled for sleeping.

The next day, I decided to go to class. Turns out that one day of class in a week is definitely enough for me. I attended school, but of no volition of my own—my foster parents refused to let me drop out, for one, and for two, I really had nothing better to do. However, I rarely felt obligated to go to class. So, on Thursday, I headed to my usual spot. Annoyingly enough, I tripped on a very large object—one that squeaked, I might add—that happened to be sitting in my line of trajectory.

"Damn it," I cursed, picking myself up. "What the hell?"

Whatever—or whoever, I guess—had thrown me on my face was next to me now, tugging on my arm in an attempt to help me up, which only served to throw me off balance, of course.

"Would you let go? I can stand on my own, thanks. And say something, already. What, are you a mute?" So far, the person in question had had time to trip me, fail at helping me, and knock me onto my face again—plenty of time for a word or two.

Like an apology.

"I'm sorry," a familiar female voice said. "I'm here to apologize for upsetting you the other day."

Oh. It was her. "Whatever. So you come and trip me?"

"It's not my fault you weren't paying attention to where you were going."

"Right. That would have something to do with the fact that _I can't see!_"

"So, you just trip on anything in front of you? You haven't developed some sixth sense, or the intelligence to use a cane, or something?"

"I…uh…." She kind of had me there. For reasons unbeknownst to me, I refused the cane at any opportunity that arose. My foster parents insisted that I use it, but at school, the supervisors generally let me bash in my face as often as I pleased, and I gladly took the opportunity.

"Fine. Point for you," I conceded. "Now, if you don't mind, I have an entire period or so until my babysitters come and find me, and I'd like to enjoy it. Direct me to the tree, please." Normally, I would know which direction I was to head in, but the tripping fiasco had gotten me turned around.

"Which one?"

I shrugged. "They're all trees."

So she grabbed my arm and pulled me to a tree.

"Thanks," I said, and sat. Without another word, I pulled out my decrepit guitar and began to tune, falling into my routine without a second thought.

She was silent for so long that I forgot about her, and when she spoke, it took me by surprise.

"Did you learn where the notes are entirely by ear?" she asked. "I mean, since you can't see where the strings are on the…uh…."

"Fret board," I supplied. "Not really. My dad taught me. He insisted I learn, even though it pissed me off. I couldn't read any music, couldn't check my fingers. Eventually, I realized that your eyes are almost useless when playing music—it's all up to the ears, and the fingers, of course. And your heart, I suppose, if you want to get into the sentimental aspects of music. It was the best thing anyone ever did for me," I finished with a smile.

"He sounds like a cool guy."

"He was," I answered. Immediately, I found myself shocked at how easily the past tense came out of my mouth. I'd been struggling with it since the moment I'd found out he was dead.

"Was?" she repeated.

"Was."

"How did he change?"

"He didn't."

She took a moment to think about this, then simply said, "Oh."

I was mostly glad when she didn't follow up with an apology. I hated that people thought their pity would make me feel better.

"What's your name?" I remembered to ask after another minute or two.

"Oh, right, I'm sorry. It's Bryttni," she answered.

And as it always worked, I got a picture to go with the name. Call it a sixth sense, or whatever, but any time I heard someone's name, I got a flash of a crystal clear image—presumably of that person. However, I've learned to ignore them, for the most part—I never can remember them. They're gone as quickly as they come.

"I'm Chris," I said, holding out my hand. She already knew, but I felt it was time to properly introduce myself.

We didn't talk much more after that. Occasionally, she'd ask me to play something, or to replay a series of notes that had just happened to come out of the guitar. However, I figured I had a new class-ditching buddy, all the same.

****

I think this was actually one of the very first stories with this character that I wrote. Chris is bitter in his old age, haha. Um, for the sake of telling you (and because I know that I like to know these things ^-^), Chris is currently a…junior? No, he should be a senior here. Bryttni is a wee freshie. And a bit of a ditz. But that's okay. So, there's that chapter. More to come soon. Maybe in a couple of hours, lol. I'll see how I feel later. But you should let me know how you feel, ne? Feedback is wonderful.


	5. Going Blind

**Disclaimer:** I do not own these characters name sakes. Even though their name sakes have nothing to do with anything right now. Soon, I promise.

**Author's Note:** I know this chapter kind of ends and begins abruptly, but… That's how they work with each other. Sorry if it bothers you. Um, this is shortly after they met. For anyone who pays attention to timelines.

****

"Chris?" Bryttni asked, shocking me out of my almost-meditation. We were out by the tree, as always.

"Yeah?"

"How did you become blind?"

"Does it matter?"

"I would like to know."

"So, then, not really?" I heard her sigh.

"What answer do you want, Chris?" I shrugged.

"Fine." With this, she went silent again.

"It really wasn't anything epic. The opposite of epic, actually. It was pathetic."

"How old were you?" she asked me quietly.

"Um, I'd just turned seven. I think. It was sometime around then."

"So, what were you doing?"

I smiled for a moment, amused, as always, by her tactics. One baby step at a time, she prodded me into doing what she wanted me to do. For someone so curious, she sure had a hell of a lot of patience.

"Cajoling my babysitter."

"Oh, God. Your _babysitter_ blinded—"

"No, no, no, nothing like that," I told her as I shook my head, chuckling a little at her assumption. "I begged and begged and begged, and she finally decided to let me go outside. Said I had to stay in sight. I promised, grabbed my bike, and headed out to the alleys behind my house. Where she couldn't see me."

"Nice, Chris. Did she get mad?"

"Not until she realized that I was screaming. Well, and then she just freaked out. I guess there wasn't really an anger phase."

"Oh? Scary man in the alley?"

"Nah. No men. I was fine for a while. I loved being outside, and riding my bike was the best. Alleys are kind of creepy, but only creepy because they're filled with the crap that no one wants anyone else to see. It kind of made me feel empowered, like I could discover these random people's secrets. And I loved riding that damn bike."

"Do you miss it?"

"Yes," I answered.

"I bet. So, where is this going?"

I loved the fact that she didn't ever dwell on the "poor Chris" crap. It was just, "Well, that sucks. So what happened next?"

"Basically, some kids pushed me off of my bike, roughed me up a little, and ran off."

I heard a mildly exasperated sigh. "Do I have to drag everything out of you?"

_Yes._ "If you would shut up, I would go on," I told her. I waited a minute, before I continued. "The alley roads were dirt. They rubbed my face into the ground, and something in the dirt got stuck in and screwed up the corneas in either eye. It hurt like hell. And that was the last time I saw anything."

"What happened afterwards?"

"Not much. I bawled my eyes out for a while. Anita came outside and freaked out, called the hospital. Dad came straight home from work. I'm not sure how long I stayed in the hospital. Nor the amount of time I took off from school. I was convinced that I'd never be able to go back. So my dad gave me a blindfold, and reminded me off all the superheroes who'd undergone great tragedies, and pulled their asses back off of the street. And life was better. My dad ended up not suing—something about moral compasses was his reasoning."

There was silence as she thought it all over. "That's…intense," she said.

"I suppose."

"Thank you."

"No prob."

****

Thanks muchly for reading! Please let me know what you thought. Again, sorry for how abrupt it starts and ends, but… Yeah.


	6. Into Wonderland We Go

**Disclaimer:**__Yay! Name sakes to tell you that I do not own! I don't own the original idea of Wonderland, either. However, these characters are mine. And I love them dearly ^-^

**Author's Note:** This one has to do with Wonderland! I told you, soon. I hope you enjoy ^-^

****

I was just sitting against my tree. The same tree I sat next to any other day. _Every_ other day. I had talked to Bryttni, ditched class. I didn't have my guitar—maybe that should have indicated to me that something was going to go wrong.

I was completely awake, and there was absolutely no compulsion to sleep, even as I sat there, doing nothing. And then, the air around me changed. I have no idea how, or why, or what happened. There was a _woosh_, and then I remember feeling like I was _falling_ and _falling_ for a ridiculous amount of time. It seemed never to end. At the same time, no time passed. I could say that it ended as fast as it started, except it was more that it never started, and therefore never ended. It just _was_.

Finally, I felt myself reenter…something. But it was…different. It felt kind of like a black out, but I didn't go back to the normal me. Something was completely different. I stood up slowly, somewhat relieved when my insides flopped with nausea. It had to have been a black out.

"Christopher?" a soft—if definitely male—voice asked.

"Uh, yeah?" I asked, wondering if I was busted. But I could just go to the nurse now, right?

"Welcome. I'm sorry for bringing you like this, but it was time."

"Um….Okay. Great. It's fine. Could you help me get to the nurse's, though?"

I waited. No answer. Right. Jerk. Haha, let's watch the blind kid stumble around. I started off towards where I thought the door to the building should be.

"I wouldn't go that way," the voice said. "There's a tree right there."

"There is no—oof," was my brilliant acknowledgment of the tree that was indeed "right there."

"I'm sorry. I haven't been around many blind people. I don't know how to help you."

"Um, if you would just show me where the door is...that would be sufficient."

"No, Chris," he answered after a moment.

Wait, why did he know my name, again?

"Do I know you?"

"No, but I know you. As does Alice."

"Yeah. Okay. I'm going to go now." I had to admit, I was genuinely creeped out by this point, and tired of…whatever this was.

"Oh, dear. You really don't understand, do you." It wasn't a question. "Chris, you are no longer where you were."

"Oh?"

"I'm sorry. I'm not good at this, uh, communicating. You're in Wonderland now."

Oh, great. I really _had_ had a concussion. Maybe Bryttni had hit me with a frying pan. Haha.

"Um, what?"

"Wonderland."

"Right. Who are you, again?"

"The White Rabbit."

"And who am I?"

"The Cheshire Cat."

Well, at my least my delusional mind was gracious enough to give me a good role. And that was when I blacked out again.

****

"Gods, he's a heavy sleeper. Look at that dip in the bunk."

"Vince, he….Oh, never mind."

"Consider it never minded. Wait, what am I never minding?"

"It doesn't matter; you wouldn't get it."

"Get what?"

"How did he get on the top bunk, Vince? I know he wasn't there when I last saw him."

"How do leaves eat?"

"What?"

Think about it. They have no mouths, and yet….Have you seen the leaves on that palmetto? Fucking huge."

"No cursing, Vince."

"Can I bless?"

"Do you know how?"

"I'm afraid not."

"Good. I would be worried for the world if you did. But since you don't, no, you can't."

By this point, I had identified a young girl and a man speaker. My half-cognate brain was quite amused by the conversation thus far, but my body decided to interrupt it with a coughing fit.

"Oh, but Rachelle…."

"Shush, Vince. He's probably choking. Climb up there and get him down, since you put him up there."

I heard grumbling, and then squeaking as "Vince" attempted to climb.

"How ever am I supposed to get my feet up here? My head has already reached the top."

Next came a heavy sigh.

"Vince. Please."

"Oh, fine."

Vince started to crawl onto the top bunk, but I stopped him. Or tried. All that came out of my throat was a croak.

"Hehe. Froggy," was Vince's reply.

"Not frog. Water," was what I managed to get out.

"Oh." Pause. "Oh, you're a fish. Excuse me, I'm dreadfully sorry. You're in entirely the wrong…."

"No, he's not a fish. Would you go get him some water?"

"How much? He's a rather large fish. How rude, dropping by without even a…."

"Just a glass, Vincent."

"If you say so, Rachelle. That seems equally…." He continued mumbling as he left the room, but I couldn't tell what he was saying. Well, besides the loud proclamation of, "Noodles!" But that didn't really count.

"Um, can you get down from there? I really just don't understand how you ended up there."

In answer, I found my way along the railing, and jumped down next to her. The act possessed more grace than I could have imagined, being half-delusional still and too tall for the meager height of the bunk bed.

"Well, it appears we have a kitty on our hands. It's nice to meet you. I'm Rachelle, the Dormouse."

Who am I?

The Cheshire Cat.

"I'm, uh…I'm…the Cheshire Cat?" I said through my sore throat. Why did my throat hurt so badly?

"Oh. Of course you are. I understand now," she responded.

"You do?" I asked, unable to cover my genuine surprise.

"Yes."

"What do you…?"

"You'll see. Come with me. Vince probably got distracted by a coat hanger again, or something." She grabbed my arm and started leading me through the house.

_You'll see._ Yeah, right. This was all entirely too weird for me. I had to be sleeping still.

Who are you?

The White Rabbit.

Who am I?

The Cheshire Cat.

I'm Rachelle, the Dormouse.

Wonderland.

Oi.

Rabbit, Cat, Mouse. White, Cheshire, Dor. If Rachelle was the "Dormouse," then Vincent was….

"…mad when I found you like that. I couldn't believe he had just left you. It was pure chance that we found you when we did, and still, you…."

"Who's 'he?'" I found myself asking.

"The White Rabbit. He brought me here, to Vince, thank goodness. Boy, did Vince need a caretaker. But to just run off with a word to no one? I really couldn't believe it."

_Oh, he left words. That's for damn sure._

Wonderland.

Cheshire Cat.

"Rachelle, where did you put the fish bowl?" Vince's voice called from a room somewhere off yonder.

"I asked for a glass! He's not a fish!"

"Fishbowls are glass, too, Rachelle. Be more specific. It's only logical for a fish to want a fishbowl. I wanted to be courteous." He sounded like he was in the same room now, and I could've sworn he was pouting.

There was another sigh from the girl next to me. "Yes, I know. But a normal glass will do just fine." I could hear the exasperation in the poor girl's voice.

He started whistling—it sounded kind of like "Old McDonald," but it was distorted enough that I couldn't really tell—and then he was leaving the room again.

I whispered to her, "Is he all right?"

"Yeah," she said, her voice laden with too many emotions for the simple word. "He's just a little…off."

"'Off' counts as 'all right?'"

"It does here."

"Where's here?"

You're in Wonderland, Cheshire Cat.

****

So… Yeah. I'm sorry about the lack of descriptions, but… He is _blind_, you know. If you're like me and hate it when authors don't define what characters look like, message me and I'll tell you. I also have some awesome artwork done by friends of mine, so… Yeah. Just let me know.

Um, in case you hadn't figured it out, Vince is indeed the Mad Hatter. Hooray for mad people.

I hope you enjoyed it! And if you did, feel free to let me know. If you didn't enjoy it… I'm sorry. But let me know that, too ^-^ Jyaa, mata.


End file.
